


of the earth

by KikiRose



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-03-23 07:50:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13783053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KikiRose/pseuds/KikiRose
Summary: Keith finally has a family in the Castle of Lions, and he is happy to be among the Paladins.So happy, he can almost convince himself he isn't in love with Shiro.***Keith/Shiro slow burn/angst/mutual pining/relationship building. Sheith moments that are both canon-compliant and not.Rating will go up later.





	1. prologue

_Prologue_

_Watching your smile, being at a distance, that’s all I need_

_If we’re friends, it’s not strange to be close to you_

_Watching as they fall for you_

_What am I supposed to do during these nights that invite these unbreakable feelings?_

Utada Hikaru, “Tomodachi”

 

_ Brothers. We’re like brothers. We’re all like brothers.  _

Keith didn’t know much about family, he had to admit that much. The most distinct memories of his parents was a hand tangled in his curls and his father sitting in a rocking chair and laughing at something lost to time. 

The garrison hadn’t been much of a home to him, even though so many there grew to love each other like family. 

Still, he thought that being in the Castle of Lions with the Paladins, with Allura, with Coran--that had to be what family felt like. 

He felt it when Allura sat late into the night with him, teaching him an Altean card game that was absurd in its difficulty. She won every round, but with each victory assured Keith that he was getting better. 

“Soon enough, you’ll be able to beat Coran!” She’d chirped brightly, “he’s just awful at this game.” 

He felt it when he helped Coran fix a leaky pipe in the kitchen, stifling laughter as Coran went on and on about the time he’d inadvertently fixed a pipe for the Lord of Asgord (whoever that was). 

“Quite an honor, really, and of course we all just  _ laughed  _ about it once I realized--oh, you should have heard us going on! Anyway, that was a key part of my forging an alliance with Asgord, you know, and I tell you the next time I visited their planet--” 

He felt it when he would help Hunk scout out new planets for edible food, all the while listening to Hunk talk about dinner possibilities. He would make suggestions, sometimes, which Hunk always responded to enthusiastically. 

“What’s your favorite food, Keith?” Hunk has asked him, on one of the first of these scouting trips.

Keith hadn’t had an answer yet; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been asked that question. If he’d ever been asked that question. 

“Uh,” Keith had frowned, “dumplings, I guess.”

“That’s too vague!” Hunk had seemed bewildered, “what kind? Chicken, pork, veggie? You look like a veggie man, Keith. Steamed, fried? Korean? Chinese? Work with me.” 

“Uhh,” Keith had felt hopelessly lost, “I used to, er, get dumplings from a Chinese restaurant near the garrison. They were...chicken?”

“Well, you’re out of luck then, cus I haven’t seen a chicken in a long time,” Hunk laughed, “but I bet I can make you some veggie dumplings. Or, veggie adjacent.” 

“Thanks,” was the only response Keith had been able to come up, but he could remember that he had hidden a blush as they had continued walking. No one had ever offered to cook dumplings for him before. 

_ Family. Brothers.  _

He felt it when Lance and him finally beat their own record fighting the gladiator and Lance had whooped loudly and punched Keith’s arm so hard Keith had stumbled back.

“Sorry, dude,” Lance had grinned. 

“You sure that wasn’t on purpose?” Keith grumbled, rubbing his bicep.

“Are you kidding?” Lance was working through his victory dance, which involved a lot of robot arms and hip gyrations, “you’re gonna need that arm for the next time we kick the gladiator’s shiny metal ass.” 

Keith had cracked a grin at that, “I guess we do make a good team.”

“Yeah, well,” Lance stuck out his tongue, “don’t let it go to your head, pretty boy.”

“ _ Pretty boy _ ?” 

“It’s an insult,” Lance snapped.

“It doesn’t sound like an insult,” Coran’s voice crackled over the intercom in the training room, “is that an Earthling insult? What strange customs you lot have!”

Keith and Lance had laughed at that until their stomachs hurt. 

He felt it when Pidge had cut his hair, an act of pity after Allura had said his hair had gotten so shaggy he looked like the “beast of Gogorock” (whatever that was). 

He had sat in a chair in front of her after washing his hair, and she’d combed her fingers through the damp locks. He could feel her keen eyes on him, examining his head like it was another complex math problem.

“I can’t promise it’ll be fancy,” Pidge had said.

“I don’t care,” Keith said, “just make it so Allura stops making fun of me. I can’t take Coran and her giggling anymore.”

“That’s fair,” she laughed, and with that had gotten to work cutting his hair. 

“I’ll need to cut my hair again, soon, too,” Pidge had remarked as the pile of Keith’s shorn locks grew on the floor.

“Why don’t you grow it out, now, that we all know?” Keith had asked.

“I like it better this way,” Pidge had answered simply, and they had spent the rest of the haircut in comfortable silence.

_ Family. Brothers. _

Shiro--

The first time Keith every saw Shiro, it had been across the mess hall in the garrison. Shiro was a sun moving through the room, the students around him simply planets caught in his gravitational pull. He was laughing, smiling, and Keith’s stomach had flip-flopped. When Shiro had looked up, their eyes caught. It was a moment that was seared into Keith’s memory. 

Against all odds, the biggest one being Keith’s continued bad luck, they had become friends. Shiro took Keith under his wing, the golden boy and the runt fighter pilot with no parents and threadbare clothes. People had glared at Keith, jealous, confused, unsure why he was the one receiving mentorship from the most promising cadet in the garrison. 

It had never mattered to Keith. Receiving Shiro’s full attention was more intoxicating than any alcohol, Keith had never felt anything that could equal it. When they talked, Shiro’s eyes never left his face. When Shiro had taught him how to operate the flight simulator, his voice had never grown frustrated, even as Keith made the same mistake over and over. When Keith had, after a long night of sparring, confessed that he was an orphan with no home to return to during winter break, Shiro had put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

When Takashi Shirogane was focused on you, nothing else in the world mattered.

Keith, starved of love for so many years, had blossomed under Shiro’s patient and gentle mentoring. 

“You saw something in him no one else did,” Keith had once overheard a teacher tell Shiro after Keith had passed an exam with flying colors, “no one thought he’d last a year in this school.” 

“He didn’t need me,” Shiro had shrugged, “he’s a natural.” 

Then, of course, Shiro had gone off to space and died. And Keith had spent long weeks in a rage so black, he could scarcely feel the tips of his fingers. Then longer weeks in an apathy so powerful he’d stopped shaving. Stopped sleeping, or waking. He just  _ was.  _

_ Like brothers. We’re like brothers.  _

When he had found Shiro on that table, it felt as if Keith’s body had been cleaved open. Was it the same Shiro? With the scar, the white in his hair, the slick, metal arm? Was it some cruel trick, some alien form of torture? 

_ Brothers.  _

When Shiro had woken up again, Keith had known he would follow him anywhere. He would never watch Shiro walk down another gangplank into a ship, never let himself be left behind as Shiro bravely faced the unknown. As the other Paladins had questioned their fate, Keith was only full of certainty. If Shiro stayed, he would stay. 

_ Brothers.  _

Sometimes, at night, lying in his bed in the Castle of Lions, Keith would close his eyes and try desperately to convince himself that what he felt for Shiro was the same as what he felt for Hunk. For Allura. For Lance, for Pidge, for Coran. Family. Brotherhood. 

_ Let me love him like a brother,  _ Keith prayed to his closed eyelids,  _ let this be that kind of love.  _

Then, he would fall asleep, and he would dream.

In his dreams, Shiro’s hands would slip through Keith’s hair, down his spine, circling his waist. Closer, closer, closer still. Keith would press his lips to the scar on Shiro’s nose, wrap his arms around Shiro’s broad shoulders. 

In his dreams, he would say things,  _ I love you, I’ve always loved you, I want you, you can have me.  _ All the words he kept buried inside during the day would spill from him like running water, as if they were desperate to reach Shiro. 

Even in his dreams, Shiro was nothing but kind. 

Keith would wake from these dreams covered in sweat, panting and raw as he jerked up into a sitting position. 

There, during the night, the terrible truth was his only companion: he did not love Shiro like a brother. 

Luckily, when the morning came, Keith was always able to blanket the truth once again and cover it with the fresh paint of a lie. 

“Good morning, Keith,” Shiro would say every time Keith walked out into the main area of the castle. He would always smile. He always meant it. 

“Morning, Shiro,” Keith would smile back.

It was enough. It would be enough. He had promised himself he would never leave Shiro’s side again, and this was the way he could do that. 

He would tell any lie he needed to in order to make sure he could stay there. 

He would be Shiro’s right hand, always. That was all he could ever ask for. 

Enough. More than enough. 

Though, of course, night would come again and he would be swallowed dreams of Shiro’s warm, welcoming embrace. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. one

_ You spoke my language _

_ And touched my limbs _

_ It wasn't difficult _

_ To pull me from myself again _

_ And in our travels _

_ We found our roads _

_ You held it like a mirror, showing me the life I chose _

Sea Wolf, “Dear Fellow Traveler”

 

It had been, by all accounts, a bad couple of days.

First there had been the wormhole debacle. Then, on the desolate rocky planet Keith and Shiro had been dumped on, Shiro had come uncomfortably close to dying. 

Of course, that had then led to Shiro remembering Ulaz which, in turn, led to a very impressive amount of danger and Ulaz ultimately dying. 

Now, this: the knife that was as familiar as Keith’s reflection marked with a symbol of the Galra. 

A Galra rebellion, but Galra all the same. 

Keith had had the blade as long as he could remember. It was always in his possession, tucked into backpacks or a tattered suitcase, shoved into a shoebox away from the prying eyes of foster parents and the volunteers at youth center. 

The knife was something concrete, physical proof that once upon a time he’d had parents and they had given him something. It was the only part of his earliest memories that couldn’t be written off as a dream. 

There had been a note, too, Keith could remember that. He’d had both the knife and the note until he was twelve years old, when he’d finally stopped trying to find a foster family that would keep him past a few months, and settled into his joyless life at the youth center. He had to keep the knife on his person at all times there, as their belongings were often looked through to make sure they weren’t hiding an contraband material (drugs, weapons, porn, etcetera). If he had left the knife behind, it would have been taken. Instead, he would keep it tucked up against his ribs, or strapped against his calf. It’s weight was annoying at first then, eventually, became a comfort. 

The note was stolen at some point during those years in the center. Keith couldn’t keep it on him like he did the knife, it was already frail and faded from the years of being moved around. It would have turned to dust in his pockets.

He would never know if a volunteer took it, perhaps thinking it was something more insidious than it was. Maybe it was another orphan, hungry for parental love of any kind. 

Keith could still remember what it had said, though:

_ For our fighter.  _

_ -Love, mom & dad _

Closing his eyes, Keith turned the knife over and over in his hands. That note had been tangible evidence that his parent’s loved him. Was it now evidence that they had known, had always known, what he was? What he would become? 

_ You fight like a Galra soldier. _

He had spent so many years wondering what had actually happened to his parents, how he had ended up young and utterly alone. Maybe the answer was somehow both simpler and more complex than he had ever considered: he came from monsters, from aliens. From a different world. Maybe the real mystery, all this time, was how he had ended up on Earth. 

Suddenly furious, Keith shoved the blade under his pillow and stalked out of his bedroom. He had to clear his head. 

His feet took him to the training room, and he’d decided to run through a few simulations with the gladiator when the doors slid welcomingly open to reveal Shiro, already engaged in battle with the fighting robot. 

Tentatively, Keith stepped inside and let the doors close behind him. He leaned up against the wall, watching Shiro duck, evade, and strike. He was using his robotic arm to fight, which surprised Keith. Rarely, if ever, did Shiro use his hand when training. It was fascinating to watch him weave in and out of the gladiator’s range, always staying close in order to use the weapon that his arm became. Shiro fought in a way that was aggressive, dominant, yet still somehow so agile and balanced. 

With a final burst of speed, the gladiator was defeated. Shiro stood, panting, as the robot stilled and waited for a command. 

“I guess I’m not the only one who can’t sleep,” Keith said quietly. 

Shiro looked up, happiness chasing the initial look of surprise off his face,  “How long have you been there?”

Keith smirked, “just a few minutes. Afraid of an audience?” 

Shiro touched the wrist of his metal hand, frowning, “Maybe.” 

Keith walked into the room then past Shiro, sitting against the far wall. Shiro watched him, perplexed, still breathing heavily from exertion. 

“You can go another round if you want,” Keith grinned, “I can time you.”

Shiro snorted. He dismissed the gladiator and then came to settle next to Keith, sighing as his body slumped against the wall. Keith could feel the warmth radiating off him, smell his sweat mingled with the familiar smell of Shiro’s skin. It reminded Keith of their time in the garrison together, when they would end long days sitting together on the couch in the rec room and watching whatever bad movie the other cadets had put on. 

“How are you doing? Keith asked quietly, turning to look at Shiro’s familiar.

“Fine,” Shiro responded curtly. 

“C’mon, Shiro, you know what I mean.” 

Shiro shifted, leaning his head against the wall and looking up at the ceiling. His scar stood out in sharp relief against his flushed skin, a pale pink reminder of the ways in which Shiro was not the same young man Keith had known in the garrison. Not the same Shiro who had cheerfully, optimistically set out for the stars. 

“I don’t know,” Shiro finally sighed, tipping his head to meet Keith’s gaze, “a lot has happened. I’m still--I mean Ulaz yes, but I...I can’t stop thinking about how Zarkon was the Black Paladin.”

Keith frowned. In all the mess with Ulaz and his own blade, he hadn’t thought about that bit of information for awhile. 

“It doesn’t make the Black Lion less yours, Shiro,” Keith said softly, “We’ve all gotten so good at forming Voltron, at fighting together. Our Lions have all come so far.”

“I know,” Shiro smiled weakly, “and I’m proud of everything we’ve accomplished. It’s just...hard, to know that Zarkon still has ties to the Black Lion. It’s like... _ I  _ have ties to him. To The Galra. Well, more than I already do.”

Shiro’s words turned bitter towards that last part, and he lifted his metal hand and flexed it, almost involuntarily. Keith watched, and felt his stomach drop. What would Shiro think of him, if Keith really was involved with the Galra somehow? 

Without thinking, Keith reached out and touched Shiro’s hand where it lay on Shiro’s knee, fingers slipping against the smooth, warm metal. Clever as flesh, it was always somehow surprising when the hand didn’t yield under pressure. 

“You’re you, Shiro, that’s it,” he said quietly, “Nothing the Galra, or Zarkon, will do can ever change that.”

Shiro’s eyes slid from Keith’s face to to his hand, still resting on Shiro’s. Blushing, Keith quickly redrew it, though the warmth from Shiro’s body lingered in his fingertips. 

“Do you remember what you said to me, the day I left for Kerberos?” Shiro asked, voice softer than it had been moments ago. Maybe Keith’s words were helping, somehow.

“I think I told you to bring me a souvenir,” Keith said, grinning. 

Shiro laughed, “You did. Sorry I forgot about that.”

Keith smiled ruefully, though the memory was painful. In the weeks after Shiro had been announced missing and presumed dead, Keith had gone through every second of their last moments together. He’d tormented himself with the memory. Even as the months wore on, he would still touch the memory like one would probe a rotten tooth or bruise. 

“You also told me,” Shiro said quietly, “to come back all in one piece.”

Keith was taken aback. He could remember saying those words to Shiro, but he’d never connected them to Shiro’s arm. 

“You did,” Keith said, trying to make his voice as firm as possible.

Shiro made a disbelieving noise, and that little moment of doubt and self-loathing spoke volumes. Shiro was never this vulnerable around the other Paladins, this open about the burdens he carried after his time with the Galra. Keith felt his breath hitch, the weight of Shiro’s trust in him settling in his chest. 

“I know we haven’t talked about Kerberos much,” Keith said, turning so his whole body faced Shiro now, “but I still think about it, sometimes.”

Shiro turned his head to look at him, dark eyebrows quirking up, “You do?” 

Keith looked down at his hand, now propped on the ground, so close to Shiro’s. In that moment, it took everything in him not to move the half inch it would take to touch their fingers together. 

“I thought you were dead,” Keith said quietly, “everyone did.”

“Keith--”

“I watched them clean out your room, I went to your funeral.”

“Keith, you don’t--”

“Every TV played the same thing, the video of you smiling and walking onto the ship.”

“ _ Keith--” _

“Shiro,” Keith looked up, meeting Shiro’s eyes, “when I saw you in that bunker, alive, I--nothing could ever take away from that moment. From you. If you had come back with a Galra robot body and lasers for eyes, it wouldn’t have changed anything. Shiro. You came back alive. You--”

_ You came back to me.  _ Keith bit his lip. Already, he was dangerously close to saying too much. 

Shiro opened his mouth, then closed it. His face slowly softened into a big, warm smile.  _ That  _ was the Shiro from the garrison, the shining golden boy in Keith’s memories. Keith couldn’t help smiling back. 

There, in an alien spaceship countless lightyears from Earth, Keith felt like the sun was shining down on him again. 

“I’m glad you’re with me, Keith,” Shiro said, “you help me remind me of Earth. Remind me of...being human, I guess. Not a Paladin. Just...a pilot.”

Keith turned his head away, feeling his smile slip just slightly, “I guess we have a come a long way, haven’t we?”

“And we have a long way to go, still,” Shiro stood up and offered his hand to Keith, “Come on, let’s go. We should both try and get some sleep.”

Keith took his hand and lifted himself up. There was a moment, so quick he thought he might have imagined it, where he stood almost nose to nose with Shiro, and Shiro was looking down at him with parted lips. Then, quick as lighting, Shiro was striding towards the door, cheerfully beckoning Keith to join him. 

Feeling a little dizzy, Keith followed. They parted ways, and Keith headed for his room. 

He was certain he wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. 


	3. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was waiting for Season Five to decide exactly where to take this fic and now that I've finished it...oooh boy, this is gonna get very angsty ;)

_ Two _

_ Oh, I had a dream that you couldn't hear me screaming _

_ Trying to tell you everything but it wouldn't stop you leaving _

_ I wanna wake up where your love is _

_ 'Cause your love is always waking mine _

_ I wanna break down where your heart gets _

_ So torn it's almost breaking mine _

_ I wanna lay here, lost and bitter _

_ So long, I feel like I could die _

_ I wanna tell you what my truth is _

_ But it's buried down inside _

-Bishop Briggs, “Dream”

 

Keith wasn’t sure how long he slept after returning to the Castle of Lions from the Blade of Marmora’s base. He had spent a while in the Cryo Pod, as Altean energy smoothed his skin and knit his bones. After that, he had stumbled into his room and into bed, and after that time had blurred. 

A few times, he had stirred awake to see the other Paladins, minus Shiro, standing at his bedside, faces swimming above him. 

“So he really is Galra?” Keith thought he heard Hunk say quietly, low voice soft and far away.

Keith’s consciousness slipped again, and he spiraled away from the reality of his bed in the castle. 

He woke fitfully a few more times, once thinking he was in his room back in the Garrison, then again back in his little cot in the shack. Each time, he would slip back into sleep before he could grasp at any real sensation. 

When Keith finally roused from his sleep fully, he was parched and sore from lack of movement. He swung his legs over the bed and sat up, rubbing his eyes. 

“Thirsty?”

“Crap!” Keith jumped, turning to see Shiro sitting in the uncomfortable chair he had in the corner of his room, “Shiro, god, what are you doing here?”

“I just got here like five minutes ago,” Shiro laughed as he handed Keith a glass of water, “We’ve been taking turns keeping an eye on you. Coran said if you didn’t wake up today, you’d have to go back into the Pod.”

After chugging the entire glass of water in seconds, Keith asked, “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Shiro sighed, rubbing his face, and Keith could suddenly see he was exhausted, “he said a lot of things. The simplest version is probably just that if you kept sleeping it meant something was still wrong.” 

“I still don’t think I’m crazy about the idea of you all watching me sleep,” Keith grumbled, standing up and stretching. His muscles luxuriated in the movement, and his spine popped as he reached for the ceiling. 

Shiro watched him from the chair, eyes dark under the shock of his white hair, “If it’s any consolation, I think the others have been using it as an excuse to nap.” 

Keith rolled his eyes, but couldn’t stop a smile from flitting across his face. He sat down again, rubbing his neck to work out the kinks as Shiro continued to watch him, quiet and still as only Shiro could be. 

“I guess I was really injured, then,” Keith said quietly, as he could sense that Shiro wanted to talk about what had happened. He could always tell when Shiro was skirting around something, unsure of how to bring it up. Something about the set of his mouth, the tightness under his eyes. 

“You’ve been better,” Shiro said quietly, leaning back in the chair, “the Blade of Marmora certainly doesn’t cut any corners.” 

“Meaning?”

“They would have killed you,” Shiro’s voice got somehow even quieter, “If you hadn’t been quick enough.” 

Keith shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable, “Doesn’t seem like the Galra ever do things halfway.” 

The words sat heavily between them, and for a moment Keith was certain Shiro’s face would sour with the same disgust he saw in Allura’s face now, the same mistrust. Time seemed to stretch on, terrible and empty, until Shir leaned forward onto his knees and looked at Keith with resolute eyes. 

“Are you glad you went?” Shiro asked. 

Keith turned the question over for a few seconds, remembering the way his blade had transformed in his hand, before nodding. 

“Yeah,” Keith said, “I’m...it’s good to know.”

Shiro smiled, “Then I’m glad we went.” 

There was something more in those words, an acceptance Keith desperately needed, that shifted the atmosphere in the room to one that was more relaxed.

“I guess I should go and let everyone else know I’m all better,” Keith smiled, about to stand. 

Shiro was quicker. He stood and walked over to Keith, sitting down on the bed next to him. Keith, unprepared for the onslaught of so much Shiro so close, felt his cheeks redden. 

“Keith, I...after you had escaped the trials, I know...what you saw,” Shiro said quietly, not making eye contact with him. 

Keith had to search his brain for the memory, and it came back sluggishly: Shiro, offering him his hand, then rejecting him. Keith shouting for him, desperate to make him return, make him understand. It had only been after waking that Keith had realized that Shiro had been part of the dream, an illusion to target Keith’s weaknesses. 

“You saw?” Horror was rising in Keith’s chest as he ran through everything again, this time imagining that the real Shiro could see what was happening. 

“Yes,” Shiro looked up at him, finally, “Kolivan and I both did. He said your suit has the power to create and illusion of what you wanted to see most.” 

Flushing, Keith ducked his head. He could feel shame and anger warring in his stomach as he realized that quite a bit had been revealed during their trip to the Marmora headquarters. More than he had intended. 

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice was soft, kind, “you were ready to sacrifice everything you had worked for so I wouldn’t have to fight.” 

“You would have done the same thing for me,” Keith said gruffly. 

“I would have,” Shiro said, so softly it was almost a whisper.

The two of them were looking at each other, unblinking, and Keith could scarcely trust himself to breathe. 

“We...” Keith’s hands were shaking, “We’re talking about...something else, aren’t we?”

Shiro’s lips turned up slightly, a smile that wasn’t a smile, “Clever as always.”

Silence ribboned out between them, and Keith was certain his heart was beating so loudly that they could both hear it. 

If it had been anyone but Shiro, he wouldn’t have let himself believe. Wouldn't’t have dared hoped. But Shiro had always been there for him, had always been honest and open and full of love. 

_ Maybe. Maybe. _

Keith leaned forward. Shiro did, too. 

They were so close, their noses were touching, and Keith could feel the kiss building between them. Shiro’s hands were restless on his lap, and Keith could imagine the phantom warmth of his touch. One second more and their lips would meet, just one second more, Keith reached out a hand to steady himself on Shiro’s chest--

“Keith,” Shiro was suddenly gone, standing up walking to the other side of the small room.

Keith felt his lips curling into a snarl, “What do you mean, ‘Keith’?”

Shiro turned, and the emotion on his face was terrible and raw. It was akin to desperation.

“I can’t,” Shiro said, and his voice was rough, “I’m sorry I--I went too far.” 

Keith stood, crossing his arms, “So why did you? Did you just want to find out the truth? Get me to admit it? Is that was this?”

“ _ No, _ ” Shiro looked aghast, “you can’t honestly--you think I  _ don’t want to?  _ You think this is easy for me?” 

Shock coursed through Keith, and he dropped his arms, “You mean...you...?”

Shiro’s cheeks were red now, and he looked away, “It doesn’t matter. We can’t.”

Keith closed the distance between them and put a hand on Shiro’s arm, “Shiro, c’mon, I just...is it really so different than what we were before?” 

“Yes,” Shiro frowned, “it is. The team...I’m the leader, Keith. I couldn’t...put one of you above everyone else. What if we were in a battle and something went wrong, and the first thing I did was protect you? Look for you? I can’t...I can’t have my attention divided. It’s not fair to them.” 

Ice filled Keith’s chest, and he pulled his hand back from Shiro’s arm so quickly that Shiro startled. 

“Then I guess there is a big difference between us, after all,” Keith spat, and his voice was bitter even to his own ears, “Because I already look for you first. I would protect you first. You’re it, Shiro, even if that’s not fair. Even if that makes me a shitty Paladin. You come first to me, and you always have.” 

Shiro’s eyes widened but Keith turned and walked to the door, waving it open. He looked over his shoulder at Shiro and gestured at the waiting hall.

“I think I need more rest,” Keith said in a low voice, “why don’t you leave.” 

He wasn’t sure what he expected. Possibly for Shiro to walk out the door.

Instead Shiro took two brisk steps towards him and took Keith’s arms in his hands, gently pulling him forward. 

When their mouths met, Keith let out a noise of surprise that quickly melted into a soft whine at the back of his throat. Countless times, he had dreamed this kiss. It was better than he could have ever imagined. It was Shiro’s hair tickling his forehead, Shiro’s nose against his, Shiro’s mouth unyielding yet soft. Shiro’s jaw, strong and sharp under Keith’s fingertips, Shiro’s hands sliding up Keith’s shoulders and knitting at the nape of his neck. The kiss was so frantic that Keith found himself suddenly being pushed up against the wall, shoulders meeting the cool interior of the ship. 

It was only the soft  _ shnick  _ of the door sliding closed again that broke their concentration. Shiro broke away, looking down at Keith with dark eyes and kiss-reddened lips. 

“Christ,” Keith said weakly. 

The intensity on Shiro’s face didn’t soften, “Keith, you’re first, too. You always have been. No matter what I do, what I’ve told himself. You’re always first. You have been since the first day I knew you.” 

“Back in the garrison,” Keith murmured, reaching up to smooth his thumb against the left corner of Shiro’s scar, “back in the sunshine. Even then?” 

Shiro closed his eyes as Keith’s fingers danced down his face, neck, forcing their way through the openings in his collar so Keith could trace the hollow of his throat. 

“I’ll never forget seeing you again when I woke up on Earth,” Shiro said, “I was sure it was a dream.”

“From one form of Galra captivity to another,” Keith joked.

Shiro’s eyes opened and he frowned, looking more like regular no-nonsense Shiro than he had a moment ago, vulnerable and shivering under Keith’s hands. 

Slowly, deliberately, Shiro reached up and caught Keith’s wrists. Then he pulled them away from him, down, stationing them at Keith’s side like he was an unruly child. Then, he stepped back. The distance between them was as painful as a wound. 

“So this doesn’t change anything?” Keith said quietly.

“Keith, you have to understand,” there was a terrible note of pleading in Shiro’s voice, “this war is about to get worse. Everything is going to be more dangerous. I know you understand that...we’re Paladins before we are anything else.”

Begrudgingly, Keith did. He nodded.

Shiro spread his hands, “Then you know we can’t. Not now, anyway. I don’t want...I never wanted  _ this  _ to be an afterthought. Something we did in between...everything else. That’s why I never--back in the garrison, I didn’t...not with Kerberos...and now, being the Black Paladin...” 

Pieces were coming together and forming a picture, now, and it was one that made Keith long to hate Shiro though it only made him love him more. Shiro would want to wait, want to make  _ them  _ a priority. Keith didn’t mind the thought of them sneaking kisses in between Voltron missions, but obviously Shiro did. The thought filled him with equal parts sadness and joy. 

“I guess we have to end this war, then,” Keith said softly. 

Relief broke on Shiro’s face, “We will. We will. And then...I promise, I’ll be here. We can...we can go back to Earth, if we want.” 

“We could go to our old pizza place by the garrison,” Keith grinned, “you can take me on a date.” 

Shiro’s face went silly with happiness at that idea, and that made it slightly easier for Keith to swallow his grief and frustration, his longing and rage. What had he said to Shiro earlier? Galra never did anything halfway? Maybe that was why his blood was singing with the desire now to ignore reason and kiss Shiro again. 

“I will, Keith,  _ we  _ will,” Shiro reached out and put a hand on Keith’s shoulder, “until then...”

“I won’t say anything, I promise. I’ll be normal,” Keith raised his hands, “we can forget this ever happened.”

Shiro half-smiled, “I don’t think I’ll be forgetting this anytime soon. But thank you. I knew...that you would understand.” 

They stood like that for a moment before Keith shrugged Shiro off and gestured at the door, “C’mon, we should go. Let’s go let the others know I’m fine.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro’s face was heartbreakingly gentle, “let’s go win this war.” 


	4. NOTICE FOR READERS

HEY Y'ALL I wanna thank everyone who's left kudos and commented on this work ! After the new season of Voltron I've decided I want to re-tool my Kieth/Shiro story so I'm going to be taking thi fic down and starting a new one. I'll leave this one up for a little for people to see this notice, but it'll be down in a few days--keep an eye on my profile for the new one :D


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